


The Walpurgis School for Superior Children

by Kerichi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerichi/pseuds/Kerichi
Summary: Little Draco Malfoy wanted to stay home, but he was sent to primary school instead. Lucius and Narcissa expected their son to make a name for himself during his first week of class. They should have been more specific.





	1. The Boggart

 

Narcissa Malfoy swept through the doors of Salon Noblesse. Heads turned, a reaction she'd begun to crave as she neared the birthday she dreaded: thirty years old, emphasis on  _old_. Any other day, she would have taken comfort in the admiring glances that proved her appearance remained flawless. She would have paused a moment to dazzle onlookers with the ivory elegance of her latest ensemble. On that day, she marched past the receptionist desk towards her faithful confidant in times of trouble.

"Jean Paul."

The stylist who wore black as a fashion statement stopped spell-highlighting his client's hair when he heard her agonised whisper. He pressed a hand to his ascot. "Madame Malfoy, what ees wrong,  _ma belle ami_?"

"I need a private consultation."

He turned to his client, a witch who overused tanning spells. " _Et voila, madame!_ The transformation ees complete!"

"Charming," Narcissa said.

Jean Paul, who had his back to the woman, smirked.

The woman patted her hair. "You don't think I need more highlights?"

" _Non_ ," Jean Paul said dismissively. He flicked his fingers. "Ze girl at ze counter will take care of you."

He ushered Narcissa through the salon and down the employee corridor to his consultation room. The black and white vintage French decor never failed to soothe. Narcissa and Jean Paul sat together on a settee. He captured a lock of her hair between two fingers and slid his fingers down the strands. "No split ends, that's a relief," he said, dropping the French accent he affected for clientele who didn't remember him as a quiet Slytherin named John. He gave her hair a playful tug. "Tell your old mate what's wrong, Cissy."

His use of her childhood nickname broke through her reluctance. She said, "Perdita Parkinson invited children over to play with Pansy, and the mums were going on about some new, exclusive primary school. Perdy asked if I was sending Draco, so of course I said yes. I couldn't admit that I'd never heard of the place. Lucius only talks about the Hogwarts Board of Governors." Heat scorched her face at the memory. "And then Perdy said she was glad I'd already secured Draco's admission because the term started next week!"

"The pug-faced hag set you up."

The menace in his tone gave her hope. "Will you help me, Johnny? You know people who know people."

He tried to look stern, but his dark eyes smiled. "Don't you have a husband who can use his connections to get Draco in?"

"He'd be cross. Lucius doesn't like owing anyone favours."

Johnny sighed.

Narcissa said, "I'll let you do what you've been fantasizing about since we left Hogwarts."

He smiled. "I'll fetch the hair dye."

 

Draco was hunting Galleons with his stuffed Niffler when the Boggart entered the nursery. He took one look at the black streak in her hair and gave a terrified shout, waking Nanny Murphy from her nap on the window seat. She jerked upright, adjusting the lacy cap on her head. He scurried to hide behind her wide skirts. "It's a Boggart, Nanny!" he cried. "A Boggart pretending to be Mummy!"

"It's only a bit of hair colour, darling," the Boggart said.

"My apologies, madam." Nanny's knees made creaking sounds as she rose to her feet. "Mr. Malfoy told the boy not to jump when he entered the room, that his father wasn't a Boggart, which led to questions and more questions, and now it's the monster of the week."

"Don't talk to it! Cast the charm, Nanny!  _Ridikkit_!"

The Boggart reached into a pocket. "Fruit pastilles, like I promised."

Draco peered around Nanny's skirts. Boggarts scared people. They didn't give them sweets. He frowned at his Niffler. "Bad Scorpy. It's only Mummy with funny hair, not a Boggart." He took the pastilles from his mother and asked, "Why do you have funny hair?"

His mother knelt down to look him in the eye. "Change is good for us."

He didn't know about that, but the pastilles were good, chewy sweet and coated in sugar. He liked the green apple ones best.

"You're a big boy now." She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Almost five."

Draco ate a grape pastille. It wasn't as tasty as the green apple flavour, but it was all right. "Nanny says I'm her little man."

"Yes, you are." His mother smiled the  _uh oh_  smile—the smile that meant something bad was going to happen, like a haircut or a trip to a dress shop. "I'm sure she'll miss you very, very much."

Suddenly, his stomach hurt like he'd eaten the entire packet of sweets. "Why will Nanny miss me?"

His mother said, "You're going to primary school."

 

The Walpurgis School for Superior Children looked exactly like the photograph in the brochure. It was a brick fortress in London, six stories tall, with a crenelated parapet, windows like filmy eyes and a spire atop a timber cupola. A ghost stuck her head out of an upper window to peer down at the pure-blood children in wizard robes entering the school by themselves or with their parents. When the ghost waved, Draco was certain that she waved at him. Lady ghosts always pestered him. They gushed about his "angel" face and white-blond hair.

Draco dug his heels in when his father tried to tug him forward. "I don't care about Inception year. I want to stay home with Nanny and Scorpy." Scorpy would be lonely without him.

"I rescheduled a business meeting for this  _why,_ Narcissa?" Father muttered. He tapped Draco's leg with the tip of his cane. "You are going to school, young man."

"Nanny has a new family to care for, remember, darling?" Mother said quickly. She pressed something tiny and soft into his hand. "I used a Shrinking Charm so you can take Scorpy with you."

Draco closed his fingers around his best mate and tucked him into a robe pocket. "Thank you, Mummy." He saw two boys about to enter the building. They were so large they could be mistaken for Year Two students. Draco called out, "Vincent! Gregory!" Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle immediately headed his way.

"Assertiveness. That's more like it. I'll look forward to hearing about your day at dinner." His father Disapparated.

"Shouldn't I walk you to your class?" his mother asked.

Draco shook his head. Vincent and Gregory didn't have mothers holding their hands. He shouldn't either.

She kissed his cheek. "All right, dearest. I'll be waiting to take you home when school lets out. Have a wonderful day."

He was already hurrying to meet his mates. "This school is creepy. Did you see the ghost? I bet there's a skeleton in the attics." Skeletons couldn't hurt anyone. Not like Inferi, or ghouls, or Boggarts.

Vincent and Gregory shrugged. They didn't notice things like he and Scorpy did.

Someone pushed Draco in the back. "You're blocking the door. Move."

It was Pansy Parkinson. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring, when last week she'd tried to kiss him. Girls. He said, "Let her through, lads. We'll have more fun without her."

She started to brush past him and stopped. "Where are you going?"

"The attics." He walked into the school.

A witch who dressed like a mum instead of a teacher welcomed them to the school. "Inception class is down the corridor. Follow the green signs."

Draco pretended to do what she said and then made for the stairs when she turned away to greet the next students.

Pansy followed. "We have to go to class."

"You go to class," Vincent said.

"We'll all go," Draco said. "After we go to the attics."


	2. The Vampire

 

Draco led the way. He'd tried to get Pansy to go first, but she said it was his stupid idea, so he had to do it. Vincent and Gregory trailed behind them. Draco briskly marched up the first flight of steps to show how brave he was. He slowed his pace when they reached the second floor landing. He wasn't changing his mind about finding the skeleton in the attics. He was being smart. If they hurried, someone might notice and they'd get in trouble. He stopped on the next landing because he recognised the girl with a green badge on her robes who stood in the middle of the third floor corridor.

Gemma Farley always minded the younger children when her parents threw one of their fetes for pure-blood families. He'd asked her if she was being punished. She'd laughed and said she was practising to be a teacher. He thought she was daft but nice and loads of fun. And pretty. Her skin was the colour of milk chocolate.

Pansy yanked his arm. "Go!" she hissed. "Go up the stairs before she sees us!"

It was too late. Gemma had turned toward them. He waved.

She walked over, shaking her head. "Draco Malfoy, what are you and your little friends up to?" Her voice was amused.

He grinned. "We're—"

"We're lost," Pansy said. She glared at him. "Draco said the Inception class was upstairs."

"It's on the ground floor. Would you like me to escort you?"

"No, thank you," Pansy said.

Draco nodded.

"Follow me," Gemma said.

Vincent and Gregory waited for Gemma, Draco, and Pansy to pass them before falling into line.

Gemma was shaking her head again. "Have you considered being an animal trainer when you grow up?" she asked him. "You have a natural talent."

"Thanks," Draco said, "but Scorpy's a Niffler, so I didn't have to train him to find Galleons. I did teach him to run an obstacle course, though. He's really fast, and can jump hurdles and everything."

Pansy's fingernail jabbed his shoulder. "Scorpy isn't a real animal."

"Magical creatures are animals." And she'd called  _him_  stupid.

"Yes, they are," Gemma said. "Now everyone be quiet and maybe we can sneak past the Welcome Mum."

They stayed close to the left side bannister and tiptoed down the last set of steps. The Welcome Mum was standing near the front doors. Through the glass panes, Draco saw a girl almost as big as Vincent struggling against the grip of her father as he dragged her toward the door.

He quit staring at the girl outside when a soft hand clasped his and gave it a tug. He and the others quickly followed Gemma through entry to the Inception class corridor. Draco glanced over his shoulder. Pansy rolled her eyes at him, but Vincent and Gregory looked impressed that a Prefect wanted to hold his hand. Once they reached a door with green cut out letters spelling INCEPTION pasted on the front, Gemma let his hand go. He pouted. She tapped his bottom lip with a fingertip. "You have to go to class. It won't be that bad." She opened the door.

A tall, thin witch with a pointy nose and pointier witch's hat rose from her desk.

"Here are some more students for you, Miss Bloodworth," Gemma said.

"Tenk you."

Gemma slipped out of the classroom. Draco wanted to leave too. The teacher's accent, combined with her name, added up to one thing in his mind: Vampire. He backed up. Pansy pushed him forward.

"Shovink is not allowed in dis classroom, Miss . . . Parkinson, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

The vampire's accent made her "h" sound like a cat's hiss. No wonder cats hated vampires. They were a predatory threat  _and_ copied their hissing. He was glad Scorpy wasn't a kitten. His mate would be wriggling and yowling to be let out of the pocket and the vampire might notice and take him away and drink his blood.

_"Are you hard of hearink, Mr. Malfoy? Take your seat."_

Draco was standing alone. Pansy, Vincent, and Crabbe were sitting at tables in the rear of the classroom. He ignored the giggles of the other students and reluctantly sat next to Pansy. The only other option was sitting beside Daphne Greengrass, who had allergies and was always sneezing.

The door opened and the Welcome Mum said, "This is Milly Bulstrode."

"Millicent," the girl said, glowering.

"Yes, well, this is Miss Bloodworth, your teacher," the Welcome Mum said before making her escape.

The vampire said, "Welcome to Inception class."

Millicent's thick black eyebrows drew together. "My da doesn't like foreigners. He says they take English wizards' jobs."

"Inform your father, Miss Bulstrode, that I have dual citizenship, British and Bulgarian. Now take your seat."

Millicent stomped over to Daphne's table. "You better not sneeze on me," she said. Daphne buried her entire face in her handkerchief.

After the vampire explained the class schedule and the conduct expected of pure-blooded children, she passed out boxes of coloured pencils and colouring books that were blank except for a square at the top of each page.

"There are twenty-six squares," Pansy said. "I think she's giving us an exam on the alphabet."

The vampire didn't call it an exam. She called it "alphabet colouring fun." Their assignment was to write down all the letters they knew in the squares, and then draw a picture of a word that started with the letter beneath. Draco selected a black pencil for his first letter and started to draw.

 

Lucius returned home to an empty lounge. He was quite put out. He'd stopped by the club to have a drink to fortify himself, and it hadn't been necessary. Draco wasn't running around the room with a sweet in one hand and that blasted stuffed animal in the other, hollering like a Weasley that the Inferi army was after him, or that he was training "Scorpy" for the Niffler Olympics. Narcissa wasn't rising from a chair, setting aside a fashion magazine to kiss his cheek and ask about his day. Lucius headed for the nursery, thinking that if primary school was going to upset their family life, he'd hire a tutor for Draco. One that was physically fit and able to take the boy out running on the estate to tire him out. At the club, Parkinson had slurred that he'd hired a dog walker because a tired dog was a good dog, and he'd been fed up with his pugs constantly yapping. Lucius didn't see why the concept wouldn't work on children.

No one was in the nursery.

Had they gone out to dinner to celebrate Draco's first day of primary school without him? Lucius said, "Dobby!"

The house-elf appeared. "Yes, master?"

"Where is my wife and child?"

A gleam that better be pleasure to serve, not pleasure that his master didn't know where his family was, flashed in Dobby's eyes. "They is resting on master's bed."

Lucius Disapparated.

Narcissa and Draco were lying on the champagne satin duvet exactly as Dobby had said. They had slices of cucumbers on their eyelids. Lucius gritted out, "What is the meaning of this?"

Draco sat up. "We're distressing! Want to distress with us?" The pale circles were still covering his eyes.

"De-stressing," Narcissa said. She used a spell to vanish the cucumber slices and glided over to kiss Lucius's cheek. "How was your day, darling?"

"Profitable. Yours?"

"There's a skeleton in the attics at school!" Draco cried. He started jumping on the bed. "Teacher is a vampire, and they didn't serve pudding for afters. They tried to give us fruit!"

Interrupting adult conversations, jumping on the bed . . . . . "Son, did you forget your manners at school?" Lucius pointed to the door. "Go to your room until dinner."

Draco climbed off the bed. "Will we have pudding for afters?"

"Certainly," Lucius said.

"Father's the best!" Draco told his stuffed Niffler as he left the room.

Lucius told Narcissa, "Sometimes I fear for his future."

She gave a nervous laugh. "You're not the only one." She removed a packed from the bedside table drawer. "Miss Bloodworth sent this home because she's concerned about Draco's, erm, imagination." Narcissa handed him a colouring book out of the packet.

"It's an alphabet book." Draco's penmanship was excellent, and the drawings, while childish, were recognisable. A for Arcomantula, B for Boggart, C for Centaur, and so on. "Did she mistake the Doxy for a Fairy? It has black body hair and beetle wings, for Merlin's sake. If the woman can't tell the difference, she shouldn't be teaching."

"It's his fixation on monsters," Narcissa said. "Miss Bloodworth asked if I considered it normal."

"You said yes, I hope."

"I told her the question was impertinent, and I would report her to my husband."

"Well done. What is her concern? That he'll become a serial killer because he's a normal boy interested in monsters?" Lucius flipped through the pages. "Here. The picture of a witch beneath V. His teacher?"

"Yes."

"She obviously took offense and is getting back at the boy."

Narcissa bit her lip. "So he isn't abnormal?"

Was she looking for reassurance? Lucius said, "I'll make you a promise. If he becomes a serial killer, we'll make sure he only targets Muggles."

Narcissa gave a shocked laugh. He chuckled. "A future serial killer would dismember his Niffler, not put sliced cucumbers on its eyes."

"You saw that?"

"Yes. Draco's over-indulged, perhaps, but normal." He kissed her cheek and added, "Enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked up how to write a Bulgarian accent and found out from a Bulgarian's article on how to write Viktor Krum that they actually pronounce their W's (no Vinter Varlock), pronounce this as dis, change ing's to ink, and their h's sound like a cat's hiss (which of course I had to use). :)


	3. The Harpy

 

On his second day of school, Draco carried Scorpy in one robe pocket and a bulb of garlic in another. Father accompanied him and went to see the headmaster while Draco headed to class. Pansy was pretending to make tea in the kitchen corner of the imaginative play area. He had nothing better to do, so he walked over. Soon afterward, Gemma Farley came to the door and told Miss Bloodworth—his parents said he mustn't call her a vampire anymore—that Headmaster Prim wished to speak with her in his office. Miss Bloodworth asked Gemma to mind the class until she returned.

Gemma walked over to the kitchen corner. "I like your flowery apron," she said.

Draco said, "I can't get my robes dirty. I have to go to the office." He picked up a tin and took off the lid. "Pansy can't make proper tea, so I have to do it."

Pansy, seated at the kitchen table, said, "We're out of loose tea leaves. That's why I tried to use these bags!" She shook crumpled up scraps of paper.

"Those are rubbish," Draco said. "You were supposed to do the marketing."

"Was not!" Pansy cried. "We have servants for that!"

"Where are they?" He looked around and saw Vincent and Gregory sitting at their table doing nothing. "They're at the pub!" He dropped the tin. "That's it. We're getting a house-elf."

Gemma giggled. "Now I know why you two are alone over here. I'd forgotten how you row."

Pansy said, "We're playing."

Draco untied his apron. "My assistant will make tea at the office."

Pansy threw the tea bags at him. "What about me and the baby?"

Three cradles stood nearby. Two had ugly bald babies in them. Draco reached down to pick up Scorpy from the third cradle. "I'm taking him with me to the office."

Gemma rushed over. "Your Niffler! He's so tiny! May I hold him?"

"All right." Draco wasn't sure he liked Gemma gushing about his best mate.

She cupped Scorpy in her hand. "He's adorable." Her voice reminded Draco of how Pansy had sounded when she'd said, "I want to give you something" and tried to kiss him.

He grabbed Scorpy and stuffed him into his pocket. "He can't have people breathing on him. He's sick."

Gemma smiled. "Maybe I have Pepperup Potion."

Pansy said, "Teacher's back."

Gemma whirled around. "Miss Bloodworth! The class has been very well behaved."

"Due to your close watch, I'm sure. You may go. Children, return to your seats."

Gemma didn't even say goodbye. She scurried out. Draco knew why she'd left in a hurry when he saw the bright spots of colour on Miss Bloodworth's cheeks. She had fed on someone! Her victim's blood made her seem temporarily human instead of pale as the living dead.

Her glittering evil gaze fell on him. "Mr. Malfoy, your father is waitink for you in the corridor."

_His father!_ Draco bolted from the room, ignoring the sharp command to walk, not run.

"Jumping, interrupting, now running," his father said when Draco hurtled toward him. "Is this a school for students or hooligans?" He held Draco at arm's distance and listened to his jumbled explanation. "Your teacher bit no one. She was warned of the consequences if she overstepped her bounds further. Apparently, her pride was stung." His father seemed pleased. "Go learn something," he said dismissively. "I expect a report on your progress at dinner."

Draco watched his father stroll away and felt in his other pocket for the bulb of garlic. Vampires attacked the family members of their enemies. If he didn't do something, she might bite him to get revenge on his father. He broke off a clove of garlic, unpeeled it, and ate it.

"What are we doing?" he whispered to Pansy when he resumed his seat. Everyone had a pile of coloured foam shapes, a sheet of white sugar paper, and a glue stick.

"I dunno." Her face scrunched up. "Your breath stinks!"

"It's garlic," he said. "Protects me from vampires." He cut his eyes towards Miss Bloodworth. "Want some?"

_"NO!"_

Miss Bloodworth showed the class large wooden versions of the shapes and told them the names: circles, squares, triangles, rectangles, and diamonds. She instructed them to use the foam shapes on their tables to make a picture on the sugar paper. Pansy whispered that she was going to make a train. Draco began to arrange shapes. Circle head, diamond on a square for the body, triangle wings, and rectangle feet. He glued the shapes to the paper.

"What's that?" Pansy asked.

Human head, monster bird wings and body. Wasn't it obvious? Draco almost said, "The harpy," but the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling, and sure enough, when he glanced over his shoulder, Miss Bloodworth was there.

She said, "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, do tell us what you're portraying with your . . . imaginative . . . use of two dimensional shapes."

If he mustn't call his teacher a vampire, he shouldn't call someone a harpy, either. He shook his head.

"I insist," Miss Bloodworth said.

He couldn't lie. A vampire would hear his heartbeat speed up. Draco breathed out as heavily as he could in her direction while saying, "It's a person."

Miss Bloodworth's nose wrinkled. The garlic was repelling her! She glanced at Pansy's train, reminded her that she needed to use a diamond shape, and moved on to another table.

"People don't look like that," Pansy muttered.

"Yes, they do." Draco had noticed the resemblance the day before. He hadn't said anything because having a vampire for a teacher was a lot worse than having a harpy as a dinner lady.

He changed his mind when he saw what was being served in the school canteen. "I can't eat this," he told the dinner lady perched on a stool at the end of the serving line.

She pointed one of her wrinkled, claw-like fingers at his tray. "Rocket salad, caprese salad, kiwi, rice, and ratatouille. Looks edible to me."

"It's bird food." Yesterday's lunch had been bad enough with salad and apple slices. Today there was no meat and all fruit and veg—if the mixture of stewed lumps next to the rice was actually veg.

The harpy dinner lady gave a caw of laughter. "It's your food, so move along."

Draco stomped over to the table where Pansy, Vincent, Gregory, Millicent, and Daphne were all eating their bird food as if they enjoyed it. He sat down between Vincent and Gregory and began pushing the ratatouille around with his fork.

"My mother doesn't allow me to play with my food," Daphne said rather enviously.

"I'm not playing with it," Draco replied. "I'm looking for something."

"Wha?" Vincent asked around a mouthful of salad.

"A tail." Draco smirked at Daphne. "Why do you think they call it  _rat-_ a-tooey?"

"The dinner lady says it's French," she said, "for vegetable stew."

"And you believed her?" Draco continued to investigate.

 

Narcissa was hard at work organising her dressing room so the fall fashions and accessories were close to hand and the summer wear was relegated to the wardrobes at the back when Dobby came in to remind her that it was time to retrieve young master Draco from school. "Already?" she asked. She needed another hour, but parental responsibilities came first. She asked Dobby, "Black robes or camel beige?" and when he hesitated, she said, "You're right, the beige."

The moment she saw Draco's pouting face, she sighed. Another day, another crisis. "Let's go to Fortesque's," she said, hoping that a treat would bring a smile to his face. It did. At Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, Draco devoured an enormous concoction of chocolate mousse, sponge cake, and crème brulee while she sipped Gillywater. Once he was finished, he chugged down a fizzy orange juice.

"So," Narcissa said, hoping that her darling boy would keep his voice down as he shared his latest wild tale. "How was school today?"

Draco said, "The harpy dinner lady served us rat stew."

"Rat?"

He nodded. "I have to bring a packed lunch."

"Like a picnic?" Narcissa had no experience with packed lunches. She'd been schooled at home by her mother and older sisters and then at Hogwarts, where the food was so amazing she'd had to watch her portions to keep her slim figure. "Your father and I went on a picnic outside once." So many spells needed to sit comfortably on a blanket on the ground, free of creepy crawly things or flying pests. "Dobby can fetch the basket from the attics."

Draco bounced in his chair. "I get to have a picnic in the canteen!"

Narcissa fought down her unease. "I'm sure it will be lovely."

 


	4. The Picnic

Lucius arrived home late due to a meeting with the head of marketing. Non-Slytherin run corporations were less eager to do business with Malfoy Enterprises since the war, and the company needed to improve its public image. He'd sent an owl telling his wife not to delay dinner. A growing boy needed regular mealtimes. When Lucius strolled into the dining room, Draco's face lit up. Such emotionalism did not bode well for his success in future Occlumency lessons. Narcissa smiled with the proper amount of restrained warmth, but her eyes didn't quite meet his. She was hiding something.

His lips curved. He would enjoy ferreting out her secret.

"Lookit, Father, I ate all my roast beef!" Draco tilted his plate, apparently to facilitate parental viewing of the traces of gravy beside the small mound of roasted potatoes his son had mashed with his fist, by the numerous potato specks on the tablecloth.

Lucius took his place at the head of the table with Draco on his left and Narcissa to his right. He said, "I see that after a second day at school, your vocabulary has deteriorated like your manners. What's on the agenda for tomorrow? Poor hygiene?"

Dobby appeared to serve his master's dinner and pour his wine. Lucius dismissed him and asked Narcissa, "Why are there no buttered peas on our child's plate?"

"I served him peas. He must have eaten them," she said. Her nervous sip of wine belied her unruffled tone.

"Did you eat them?" Lucius asked his son.

Draco pointed to the stuffed animal posed sitting on the tablecloth. "Scorpy took them." In front of the Niffler was a miniature plate with a few peas on it. "He's a greedy guts."

Lucius raised an eyebrow at Narcissa.

"I served him more than four peas," she said.

"Then we have a mystery to solve. The Niffler didn't eat them. His plate is full," Lucius said over Draco's spluttered protest. "Wherever could they be?  _Converto!_ " The mashed up potatoes on Draco's plate turned upside down, revealing the missing peas. The shock on the boy's face made Lucius chuckle inwardly.

"Naughty Scorpy! No pudding for you!" Draco stuffed the Niffler into his pocket.

Lucius said, "No pudding for you, either, if you don't eat your vegetables."

"But the peas are yucky now!"

"And cold," Narcissa said, slanting a look at her husband that asked  _do we really have to make him eat them?_

Draco pouted. "Yucky and cold."

Lucius snapped, "Dobby."

The elf appeared.

"Serve the boy a dish of warm peas."

In the space of a few heartbeats, Dobby Disapparated and reappeared to take Draco's plate and replace it with a bowl of gently steaming buttered peas. "Is Master requiring anything else?" Dobby asked.

Narcissa gasped.

Draco's face was turning red. He was holding his breath, the imp.

Lucius dismissed the elf and told Narcissa, "The boy's fine. He's deadening his taste buds by depriving them of oxygen. A clever strategy." Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius saw Draco's eyes widen. He resembled a surprised chipmunk.

Calmly, as if he didn't hear the whoosh of released breath or the clink of silver spoon against china, Lucius began eating. The roast beef wasn't as rare as he liked, but it was acceptable. He glanced sideways. Draco was holding his breath again. Lucius shrugged. The boy would either convince himself that he couldn't taste the peas or pass out.

Draco managed to eat his vegetables and earn his pudding. Lucius said, " _Excito_. There. I've reactivated your taste buds."

"Thank you, Father!"

Lucius declined a slice of chocolate tart. So did Narcissa. Draco ate his with gusto and told Dobby when he returned to clear the table, "I want two pieces of chocolate tart in my picnic—"

"Tell your father goodnight, darling," Narcissa said as she stood. "It's time for bath and bed."

"Wait." Lucius used his peripheral vision to watch Narcissa's reaction as he asked Draco, "What did you learn at school today?"

Interestingly, his wife visibly relaxed, until Draco blurted, "I learned that the dinner lady is a harpy who tries to feed us rat stew. That's why I'm going to bring a packed lunch tomorrow."

Narcissa closed her eyes briefly. "In class he made a picture using two dimensional shapes."

Lucius wasn't impressed. Nanny Murphy had taught the boy his shapes when he was two years old.

"I made a picture of the harpy dinner lady," Draco said, "but I told Miss Bloodworth it was a person."

"Excellent." Finally, something he could approve: discretion. "Run along and have your bath." Lucius smiled at Narcissa. "I think I'll go have a soak myself while I'm waiting." He finished his wine as they left the dining room.

"What is Father waiting for?" he heard Draco ask.

"To have a Mummy and Daddy chat," Narcissa replied.

Lucius grinned. She sounded less than enthused. He decided to visit the kitchen before taking a bath. A square, child-sized willow picnic basket stood on a work table. Narcissa's doing. He understood why she'd tried to hide it when he opened the lid. The white and grey check blanket, spelled to shrink to tuck inside the basket and expand when removed, brought back memories. He closed the lid, smirking.

 

The expression on Narcissa's face when she saw the picnic blanket covering the bed was priceless. The years seemed to drop away. He saw the girl who wore a handed down dress better than Bellatrix ever had when it was new. Her eyes were still guardedly hopeful. He patted the blanket.

She arched her delicate brows. "I feel overdressed."

He said, "If you want to change into a dressing gown, go ahead."

"It can wait." Narcissa sat next to him on the bed. "Are you angry that I agreed to let him pack his lunch?"

"Should I be?"

"We pay the school to serve a healthy gourmet lunch." Narcissa sighed. "Which Draco's imagination transforms into vile concoctions served by a harpy. I'd rather he packed a lunch and ate it."

"And I'd rather not hear about rat stew while I'm eating dinner." Lucius smiled. "Do you remember our second picnic?"

"In the Shrieking Shack." Narcissa glanced at the picnic blanket. Her breath quickened. "Are we . . . re-enacting it?"

"The good parts." He cast a nonverbal Summoning Charm. Narcissa licked her lips as he caught the brush. When she reached for it, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Ladies first."

 

Miss Bloodworth was the first to notice Draco's picnic basket. She stared at it as he walked into the classroom. He gripped the leather handle. If she tried to take his basket, he had a jar of minced garlic ready to be opened and flung. She looked away, proving that vampires had garlic sensing powers.

Draco puffed out his chest and strolled to his table. Pansy was busy drawing on a piece of paper with a pencil. He set the basket on the table. She didn't look up. He sat down and leaned over to see her drawing. Two stick figures, a boy and girl. The boy's hair wasn't coloured in, but the girl's was darkly shaded. "Gross. They're kissing," he said.

"No, they're not!" Pansy crumpled up the drawing. "He couldn't breathe and she was giving him recitation, but now he's  _dead_."

"Brilliant!" Draco said. "Now you can draw the funeral."

Pansy stopped glaring at him like she wanted to stab him with her pencil. "What kind of funeral?"

"Viking. They put him in a boat and set it on fire to send him to Valhalla."

"The widow wants to go to Valhalla too," Pansy said.

"She can sneak in the boat and drink poison."

"Can she kiss him before she dies?"

If he said no, Pansy might not draw the Viking funeral. "All right." The Viking was dead. He wouldn't feel the slobber.

Pansy started drawing on a clean sheet of paper. "What's that?" she asked, pausing to point at his basket.

"My lunch." He smirked. "No rats."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "My father says our school is too posh to serve rats."

"They're organic," Draco replied. "Free-range." When alarm filled Pansy's eyes, he took pity on her. "We can share the picnic lunch if you like."

"OK," she whispered and started drawing furiously.

Draco scooted his chair closer to supervise. "More flames," he said.

 

At lunchtime, Pansy became a picnic know-it-all and dragged him through the canteen to the door that led to the playground. "Nobody has an indoor picnic," she said.

His parents did, but they were somebodies, not nobodies. Draco let Pansy take charge of selecting a patch of grass to put the blanket on. He even let her unpack the basket. "The garlic isn't for us," he said. "It's for defence against vampires."

Pansy lifted a petit baguette, wedges of brie, black grapes that Dobby must have sneaked in when Draco wasn't looking, a bottle of Gillywater, two cups, two slices of chocolate tart, and an ivory-backed hairbrush out of the basket. "What's this for?" she asked, holding up the brush. "To tidy our hair before going inside?" Pansy dropped it into the basket. "Mother says we should never use someone else's comb or hairbrush."

He broke the baguette in two and handed Pansy the smaller half. "One day I'm going to cut my hair and never use a brush again." She made a whimpering noise. Must be her stomach gurgling. He gave her a wedge of brie.

She reached out with her free hand to touch the ends of his hair that grazed his shoulders. "I could tidy your hair with my fingers."

It had always felt good whenever his mother or Nanny Murphy had finger combed his hair. "If you want," he said, and gave her all the grapes.

 

 


	5. The Gnomes

 

Draco wolfed down his brie and baguette. If he ate slowly, his stomach might say it was full before he got to the chocolate tart. He couldn't allow that to happen. Pansy daintily spread the creamy cheese on her portion of baguette. She probably wouldn't be able to eat her tart. He grinned. He'd eat both slices.

Pansy said, "This is like playing house outside with real food."

He nodded.

She asked, "Then why isn't our baby sharing our picnic?"

They were playing? Why hadn't she said so? He answered, "Scorpy's sick. He needs to rest." Draco frowned. First Gemma and now Pansy. What made girls go loony over tiny Nifflers?

Pansy gnawed off a hunk of bread. She glared at him while she chewed. "It isn't a family picnic without a baby."

Draco said, "He's here. He's sleeping in my pocket."

"Let him sleep on the picnic blanket."

Draco opened his mouth to say that would make Scorpy worse, but he caught sight of a tiny head pushing up through the grass. "What's that?" he asked instead.

"It looks like a new potato," Pansy replied. "Three potatoes," she said when two other tiny heads poked up from the ground. The potato heads were attached to funny little bodies that wriggled out of the earth, creating mounds of dirt. The creatures had round dark eyes and hands with claws instead of fingernails.

"They're gnomes," Draco said. "Baby gnomes." Scorpy was now seven centimetres long—he'd measured—and the baby gnomes seemed a bit taller.

"Babies?" Pansy's face and voice went all soft and mushy. She watched the three gnomes crawl onto the blanket. "Let's adopt them."

"They're pests," Draco said.

"Don't call our children that!" Pansy leaned over and said, "Sit down, babies."

The gnomes kept crawling.

Pansy pointed and barked, "SIT!"

The gnome babies sat. And then they burst into noisy tears.

"No!" Pansy shook her finger. "No crying!"

_"Nooo!"_  the babies said in chorus.

Draco laughed. "They can talk!"

Pansy placed a grape in front of each baby.

"They won't like it," Draco said. He watched tiny claws stab the grapes and lift them toward open mouths. The babies each took a bite, spit the grape bits out, and cried, " _Wahhh!_ " He said, "Told you so."

She gave them morsels of bread, and then brie. The gnome babies wouldn't touch the food. The one closest to Draco said, "No!"

"That one takes after me," Draco said. "He's the smartest."

Pansy threw a grape at him. "I'm smart too!"

"You don't know they eat worms, and the only people food they like is—" He didn't want to tell her. She might expect him to share.

She pelted him with another grape. "Tell me! The babies are hungry!"

Their bellies looked rather chubby to him, but Draco couldn't hold out against three sets of round, hopeful eyes. "I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I'm making," he told them. Releasing an annoyed breath, he reached a hand into the picnic basket, felt around for the zipper of the pocket hidden in the lining, and brought out a packet of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans. The instant he opened the packet, the gnome babies started sniffing the air. They were too little to have eaten a Bott's Bean, but they knew something smelled good. He picked out three beans that could have been liver or liver and tripe. A quick whiff revealed what Draco had known instinctively. The flavour was earthworm. He gave one to each baby.

Tiny gnome faces lit up as they took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.

And then they squealed.

The high-pitched sound was like nothing Draco had ever heard. He wondered if the Gillywater bottle would shatter.

"You poisoned them!" Pansy cried.

"No, I didn't." The babies reached out their hands toward him as they squealed, obviously wanting another bean.

"Quiet!" Draco said. The baby closest to him—the smart one—closed its mouth. Draco said, "Good boy!" and gave him a bean: earwax, by the light brown colour. The other babies immediately stopped squealing. He rewarded them with reddish orange beans he was pretty sure tasted like spaghetti vomit.

Pansy covered her ears with the palms of her hands. "They're squealing again! Don't give them any more Bott's Beans!"

The babies instantly stopped.

"Maybe they all take after me," Draco said.

Pansy grabbed the container of grapes. Before she could throw it, the ground shook, and then erupted as half a dozen full sized gnomes clawed their way out of the dirt to surround the picnic blanket. Draco jumped to his feet.

The tallest gnome with a head the size of a baked potato held out his impressively filthy claws and said, "Give!"

Pansy hurled the container of grapes at the gnome. "You can't have our babies!"

The gnome leader dove to safety. He spat out a mouthful of grass and growled, "Give!" This time he gestured toward Draco.

"I think he wants the Bott's Beans," Draco said. The babies' squealing must have been a gnome signal. Underground, it would tell others where to find tasty earthworms or beetles or whatever else they ate.

"Then give them to him so he'll go away and stop ruining our picnic."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Yes, it does!"

"No, it doesn't. Father says Slytherins don't give into demands, they nego—erm—make a deal." He tossed each gnome a bean picked at random and sorted more carefully for the babies. He'd never tried troll bogey flavoured beans; some things were too gross even for him. The babies loved them. They chewed with their mouths curved into smiles and their eyes closed.

"Aww, they're so cute," Pansy said, "with their little plump cheeks."

Draco wasn't going to put up with her gushing over gnome babies more than once a week. He told the leader, "Every Wednesday, the babies will picnic with us and I will give you a packet of Bertie Bott's Beans."

The gnome pointed to each baby. "Three!"

"One."

"No deal!"

The babies howled a sound that combined sobs with whining. The leader said, "Three!"

What would Lucius Malfoy do? Draco replied coolly, "One, or I bring my pet jarvey to school to rid the playground of pests." Jarveys, magical creatures that looked like overgrown ferrets, hunted gnomes like rats and moles. Draco's mother would never allow him to have one because they shed and spoke rudely, but the gnomes didn't know that.

Pansy gasped.

"Not the babies," Draco said. "Only the big ones. My jarvey's specially trained."

The other gnomes started talking in Gnomish. Finally, the leader gave a roar that cowed them to silence. He told Draco, "One."

Draco bent down and handed him the packet of Bott's Beans. The babies crawled toward the leader who hurriedly jumped into a tunnel to take his prize to the community gnomehole. The other gnomes followed the leader. The babies left too. The smart one was the last to go. He gazed toward Draco with beseeching dark eyes.

"Goodbye, see you next week," Draco said.

Pansy sniffled. "The babies like you best. It's not fair. I don't want to play with them anymore."

Draco carefully walked around the blanket to avoid stepping on the slices of chocolate tart and sat next to Pansy. "They don't like me more than you," he said, although he was pretty sure the smart one did because he was so intelligent. "They smelled this." Draco opened his hand and showed her the Bott's Bean he'd palmed.

"Green apple! My favourite!"

His too, but he'd give it away to make Pansy happy.

She kissed his cheek. It wasn't slobbery, so he didn't mind that much. He returned to his side of the blanket and ate a large forkful of chocolate tart.

"You can have mine," Pansy said. Her sweet expression soured when he grinned and revealed chocolate covered teeth. "That's disgusting!" She tossed her head and looked away, only to glance back with a smirk on her face. "Vincent and Gregory finished their lunch and are headed this way."

Draco threw down the fork and began eating with his hands.

Pansy said, "I want a divorce."


	6. The Divorce

 

Something was wrong. Narcissa knew it the instant her darling boy stepped through the school doors. Draco wasn't pouting or scowling. He barely had a frown on his face, but she was attuned to her child more deeply than other mothers. Perdita Parkinson, for example, didn't seem to be aware that little Pansy's ill humour made her look like she had a unibrow. Perdy merely beckoned her daughter with an impatient wave as she continued her conversation with Acacia Greengrass.

Narcissa didn't have to vulgarly call out or wave to get Draco's attention. She stood out from the crowd. She also stood alone, a metre or two away from the gaggle of parents waiting to collect their children. Someone had drenched herself in designer imposter perfume, and the vile stench threatened to give Narcissa a migraine. It wasn't as bad as the time when Bella had procured a cheap Muggle fragrance and doused Narcissa with it while she was sleeping, but the assault to her senses was strong enough to make her wish she could identify the offender. She would gladly wait for the opportune moment, the way she had with Bella, to pay her back. It was amusing how surprised people looked without eyebrows.

Draco reached her side. They usually Flooed home, but the miasma of odorous allergens wafting toward them necessitated a different course of action. "Take my arm," she said. The moment she felt his hands clutch tight, she Apparated.

Side-Along Apparation over long distances was not one of her strengths, so Narcissa brought Draco to her closest place of refuge: Salon Noblesse.

The salon was filled with matronly pure-bloods. Wednesday was Senior Day.

"She's not one of us. Don't give her a discount," one of the old witches said. The woman's hair was hidden beneath a heat cap, but by her ill-mannered outspokenness she had to be a Prewett.

"My mother is from the Ancient and Noble House of Black!" Draco cried. "You're . . . you're from an ancient rubbish bin!"

"Why, I never!" the Prewett woman said.

"We  _know_ , Muriel," a witch said. "But at least you have all those nephews and nieces for consolation. How many Weasleys are there now?"

"More than their parents can afford," someone else said slyly.

The matrons all tittered.

Narcissa told the receptionist, "I'm going to see Jean Paul," and swept through the room with Draco trailing in her wake. She didn't have the energy to reprimand him when he stuck the tip of his tongue out at Muriel Prewett. The natural products the salon used didn't normally bother Narcissa, but the strong scents combined with the women's cackling threatened to overwhelm her battered sensibilities. She clenched her jaw. She refused to vomit. She would not show weakness.

She threw open the door to Jean Paul's office. "Johnny, help me."

He sprang up from his chair and rushed over to a storage cupboard. "Little man, help your mother over to the chaise lounge." He cast a spell to dim the illumination orbs and brought over a vial with pink liquid and what looked like an empty glass jar with a silver lid. "Drink this," he said as he handed her the vial. "It will settle your stomach." Jean Paul gave Draco the jar. "Sit next to your mum and then lift this up to her nose and unscrew the lid. Keep holding it up. It's fresh mountain air. It will help her breathe better."

"What's wrong with mummy?" Draco asked.

"Healers call it Multiple Chemical Sensitivity. It's caused by Muggles and their petro-chemicals—"

"That's enough," Narcissa said.

"No, it isn't, but I have a client arriving, so I'll save the anti-Muggle rant for another day."

Draco sat next to Narcissa and unscrewed the jar lid. Narcissa took a deep breath of crisp, clean air. "A client?" she murmured. "Artistry like yours isn't had at a discount." He did paperwork while his staff ran the salon on Wednesdays.

"No, the client's paying double for an emergency appointment. Ms. Carrow went to a rival salon and they gave her a hairstyle to match her brother's." Jean Paul smirked. "I think they thought she  _was_  her brother."

"Are they twins?" Draco asked.

"Whether they are or not, they're peas in a pod." Jean Paul patted Draco on the back. "Keep up the good work and I'll return with tea and biscuits."

Narcissa closed her eyes. Between the potion and the mountain air, she was feeling more herself. She asked, "How was school today? Did you enjoy your packed lunch, dearest?"

Draco said, "I liked it." After a small silence, he asked, "Do Slytherins get divorced?"

She startled and almost had a glass jar rammed up her nose. Narcissa took the jar of air from her son. "Where did you hear that word?"

"Pansy."

"Oh." Of course he hadn't heard Lucius talk about divorce. "Why did she say that?" The Parkinsons constantly fought about their dogs, but that seemed like a petty, Mugglish reason to dissolve a union between pure-bloods.

"She wants one."

Narcissa suddenly understood why little Pansy appeared to have a unibrow earlier. "You two play house together at school?"

"Not anymore."

All the fresh air was making Narcissa light-headed. She put the lid back on the jar and pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. Draco looked like a mini-Lucius when he brooded. It was adorable. "Well, at least you don't have children."

"We have three gnome babies and Scorpy."

Narcissa put a hand over her mouth. Oh, Merlin, what would Lucius say about gnome grandchildren! She quelled her urge to laugh and treated the situation as practice for when her son was older, because if he ended up marrying Pansy they'd be surely be having this conversation again. "That does complicate matters."

"The gnome babies only visit on Wednesdays, but Scorpy has to live with me," Draco said. "He's mine."

Best not to ask questions about the gnomes. She said, "If you don't want a custody battle, I suggest finding a way to work things out."

"How?" Draco asked.

Should she? Narcissa decided that she should. "Ask your father when he gets home."

 

Lucius stepped out of the Floo in the lounge to find his son curled up on the rug. He bent down to shake Draco's shoulder. "Wake up. Did your mother hold dinner? I owled instructions not to wait, that I had a meeting."

"I ate all my food, even the veg," Draco replied. "And I was good at school today."

"I'm glad to hear it." If the scamp wanted something, it could wait until the next day. Lucius checked his pocket watch. "Off to bed with you. It's past your bedtime."

"Mum said I could ask you to tuck me in."

"Did she?" Narcissa was the one who enjoyed nightly parental/child rituals. He preferred to participate only on occasion. This, apparently, was one of them. "Go brush your teeth, then, and chew a toothflossing stringmint. I'll . . . ." He furrowed his brow. A parent had to do something other than supervise.

"You can pick out my pyjamas and turn down the covers on my bed." Draco gave him his Niffler. "And put Scorpy in his hammock by my pillow."

"Very well." The stuffed animal was warm and a bit damp. Had the boy drooled on it? Lucius cast a Locomotor Charm to levitate the toy to Draco's room and dump it into the tiny hammock slung between a bedpost and a peg on the wall. He opened drawers in the wardrobe until he found pyjamas. Surely they were too small. Draco ran in naked. The pyjamas fit. It was the boy's personality that was large. Lucius pulled back the covers, waited for Draco to hop onto the bed and tucked the covers in around him.

"There," he said. "Sleep well."

"Father, I have a question."

"What is it?" He was impatient for his dinner, a drink, and his wife.

Draco asked, "How do parents work things out so they don't divorce?"

Lucius froze. "Why would you ask that?" Draco's explanation tumbled out. By the time he was finished, Lucius sat on the side of the bed wondering if his wife was sending him a veiled message. He'd worked a lot of late nights recently. They hadn't gone on a family holiday in ages, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd bought Narcissa jewellery or gone clothes shopping with her. That would have to change.

"You know what I should do, don't you, Father?" Draco asked.

Helping his son make peace with a girl in primary school didn't mean Lucius would end up with pug-faced grandchildren. He smiled. "Yes, I do."

 

Pansy was sitting at their table drawing with angry-looking strokes of her stubby pencil. Draco sat next to her. "What are you drawing?"

"A tomb. Mother told me death is the only divorce for pure-bloods." She glared suspiciously at the two rectangular silver gilt boxes he'd put on the table.

"They're for you," he said.

"If this is a prank." She shot daggers at him before opening the closest box.

"So you can draw more pictures," he said. "Do you like the colours?"

Pansy nodded and opened the second box. Her hand shook as she lifted out the tiny stuffed Niffler. "There's a pink bow," she whispered.

"She's Scorpy's twin." His father had Transfigured her from a strand of Scorpy's fur the way he'd Transfigured the coloured pencils from regular ones. His father was the best.

Pansy reached for the tomb drawing with her free hand and crumpled it. She looked at Draco and kissed her Niffler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I planned to have Draco give Pansy flowers and chocolates, (one chocolate would be missing) but when she opened the boxes I could see coloured pencils and a "twin" Niffler, so I went with it. I've wanted to use the phrase "designer imposter perfume" since I saw the film Clueless, and I heart everyone who recognised it. Draco yelling that Muriel was from an ancient rubbish bin was a nod to his future lyric that Weasley was born in a bin. I couldn't resist that, or having it a pure-blood aspersion that the Weasleys had more children than they could afford.


	7. The Plan

 

At first, Pansy's joy over receiving his gifts gave Draco a warm, happy feeling. They were friends again. She smiled at him instead of staring daggers, and the pictures she coloured didn't have his dead body on a funeral pyre. Whenever the teacher wasn't looking, Pansy brought Scorpy's twin out of her pocket and made her wave at him. Draco had Scorpy wave back.

And then Pansy whispered, "Let's play  _make up_  when we have choice time."

His father called choice time a teacher's break hyped as creative play, since Miss Bloodworth allowed her students to explore whatever "enrichment area" they liked for a half hour before lunch if they were quiet and well-mannered. Draco thought it was brilliant. Along with lunch, recess, and the occasional free time in the morning, choice time was a highlight of his day.

But not this day. The way Pansy kissed Scorpy's twin Niffler after she'd said  _make up_  created the impression that she didn't want him to pretend to put cosmetics on her face using his fingertips as brushes. Instead, she sounded like his mother when she and Father were speaking in the lounge last night after they’d thought he'd gone to bed. The memory played in his mind like it was happening all over again.

 

_The doors to the lounge were partially open, so he peeked inside instead of knocking. Mother and Father sat close together on the sofa. Draco frowned. They hadn't left any room for him to sit between them. Father kissed Mother's hand. "I've spent too much time at the office," he said. "Let me make it up to you this weekend. We'll go to Paris."_

_"We don't have to go to Paris to make up." His mother kissed his father's cheek. "Que mes baisers soient les mots d'amour que je ne te dis pas."_

_Father chuckled. "If you want me to let your kisses be the words of love you don't say, you'll have to do better than—"_

_Draco's eyes widened as his mother kissed his father into silence and kept kissing him until his father grew faint and had to lie back on the sofa. Instead of pushing his oxygen thief away, his father held her close and ran his hands over her body._

_He doesn't know what he's doing. I have to save him! Draco quickly shut the doors, pasted an innocent, I didn't see Mummy sucking your life away, Father, expression on his face, and banged on the door several times to make sure they heard him. When he entered the room and asked for a cup of water, his parents were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, and his father was taking deep—no doubt, grateful—breaths._

 

Draco shuddered at the memory. Why girls turned into suck faces when boys did nice things, he didn't know, but he knew "make up" was code for it, and he didn't intend to give Pansy the opportunity to pin him down and take his breath away.

Class assignments distracted him and then, too quickly, Miss Bloodworth sat at her desk, picking up the  _Daily Prophet_ as she announced choice time. His mind whirled with ideas. He'd pretend to have a stomach ache and go to the Mediwitch's office. He'd suggest they play house instead of make up. They'd have a tea party with Vincent and Gregory—no, she'd never invite the boys for tea. They ate with their mouths open, even when the cupcakes were pretend. He wondered if they did it out of habit or on purpose. He hoped it was on purpose. He could admire that, even though it was disgusting.

"Why are you making that face? Did you have an accident?" Pansy asked.

"Course not," he snapped. He'd been potty trained since he was two. "I was thinking."

"About playing make up?"

Having his face sucked would be worse than disgusting. Inspiration struck. "About the ghost in the attic." He stood and told Vincent and Gregory, who were already headed toward the blocks they loved to build up and knock over, again and again, "You two. Kitchen area. Now."

Millicent, sitting on the rug and already stacking blocks, said, "Don't listen to him. He's not the boss of you."

"I'm the boss of anyone who wants to have an adventure." Draco curled his lip. "Keep stacking your blocks. Maybe Daphne can sneeze them over."

"My allergies aren't bothering me today," Daphne said. She smiled a shy, slightly gap-toothed smile. "Can I come on the adventure?"

Pansy might have enough nerve to kiss the breath out of him with Vincent and Gregory around, but another girl? Not likely. "All right." Draco ignored Pansy's scowl and marched over to his command centre in the play kitchen. There were only four chairs around the table. Daphne stood by the cooker. "Pretend to cook something," he said. Daphne put a kettle on the wooden hob.

Millicent stomped over. "Fine. I'll go on the adventure too."

"I'm the boss," Draco said.

"If that's what you want to call yourself."

He nodded. So did Vincent and Gregory. Pansy snorted. Draco pretended not to hear. If the lads followed her like they followed him, she'd appreciate them more. "Right. Now that everything's sorted," he said. "The planning can begin." He waited until everyone leaned in, eager to hear what he said next to reveal, "We're going to find the ghost in the attic."

Daphne gasped.

Millicent said, "Wizards see ghosts all the time. How is that an adventure?"

If she wasn't big enough to hide behind if a Boggart or something else nasty lurked in the attic, Draco would've changed his mind about allowing her to tag along. He asked, "Have  _you_  ever tried to go upstairs?"

"Have you?" Millicent's skeptical expression changed to grudging respect when Pansy and the lads nodded.

"A Prefect stopped us," Draco said.

"Hmph!" Pansy crossed her arms across her chest. "You stopped us, staring at that girl."

"She's a Prefect, and I was thinking." Mostly about how fun and nice and pretty Gemma Farley was.

"Uh huh," Millicent said, while Pansy narrowed her eyes and said, "Hmph!"

Daphne, at least, wasn't ganging up on him with Pansy and Millicent. She poured imaginary tea into china teacups and served him first. She asked, "What were you thinking?"

He might have been wrong about Daphne. "When I saw Gemma?" Draco said to stall for time as he tried to imagine what he would have been thinking if he hadn't been thinking about how fun and nice and pretty she was. "She likes us," he said. "I bet she'll help us sneak up to the attic if we ask."

Pansy glared at him. "We don't need her."

Draco said, "There are other Prefects. They'll let us pass if Gemma's with us."

Vincent, Gregory, and Daphne looked convinced. Millicent shrugged. After a few moments, Pansy heaved an exasperated sigh. He smiled. It was settled, then. "We'll tell our parents that we need to be at school a half hour earlier tomorrow for . . . a group project."

_"Tomorrow!"_ Pansy and Millicent cried.

He didn't bother to shush them. Miss Bloodworth would ignore random outbursts as long as the rest of the class played quietly. "We'll be the most Slytherin Inception class ever."

"Sounds  _bold_ to me," Millicent said. "Almost Gryffindor."

Daphne clenched her fists. "Draco's not bold! He's the least Gryffindor boy in the whole wide world!"

"Yeah," Gregory said. He cracked his knuckles. "Take it back."

Vincent stood. "Take it back."

Millicent and Vincent matched in height and bulk. Draco could tell when she realised that Vincent wouldn't back down. Millicent dropped her eyes to the floor. "I take it back," she muttered.

She didn't sound like she meant it, but Draco didn't care. "We go tomorrow morning," he said. "Don't be late."

Vincent asked, "Do we have time to play blocks?"

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded. The lads, Daphne, and Millicent left the kitchen area.

Pansy sipped her imaginary tea and grimaced. "It's cold! I have to make a fresh pot." She stalked over to the cooker while he wondered when he could ask Gemma to help them. A pretend spell later and Pansy carried the teapot to the table. "You brought another picnic basket," she said.

Before she could suggest they eat outside and then make up, he said, "Indoor picnic today."

She set the teapot on the table. Draco froze. Pansy was standing over him, reaching out.

_No! Don't! Stop!_ He scrunched his eyes closed.

Her fingers sifted through his hair. He slumped in relief. "Are we playing make up?"

"Do you like it?"

He leaned his head back and opened his eyes. "You're the best." Best at stroking his hair—his mum always worried about making the strands stick out untidily—and maybe even his best mate. Father said friends were for the weak and only family could be trusted, but Draco was willing to make an exception for Pansy.

And then she leaned down and kissed him.

It was a quick peck on the lips. Not smothering, but still. The threat was there. He slid down to the floor and crawled under the table, pushing a chair on the opposite side out of the way so he could scoot out and face her. "Never do that again."

"Why not?"

He said the first thing that popped into his mind. "Because you're my best mate."

Her cheeks turned pink. "I am?"

Draco nodded curtly.

Pansy asked, "Do you want to play make up again?"

He didn't trust the gleam in her eyes. "Let's go play blocks."

 

At the end of the day, Draco asked Pansy to tell his mother that he was staying after class for a few minutes.

She looked down at her pocket and said, "I know."

"What?" Draco asked.

"Sindy said you're a stupid head. Gemma Farley won't help us."

She'd named her Niffler  _Sindy?_ Muggle sounding poo-face name. "Yes, she will."

"Will not."

"Will too."

Pansy tossed her head and flounced off.

Draco followed and then went upstairs instead of leaving the school. Gemma was standing near the third floor landing. She smiled when she saw him.

"Are you lost again?"

He stared. He was supposed to ask her something, but his brain was too fuzzy. The older students rushed past him in semi-orderly fashion. He waited for the mob to pass.

Gemma cleared her throat; his cue to speak. He couldn't open his mouth. What if she said no?

Her impatient expression shifted to concern. "What's wrong?"

He told her everything that had happened the first day of school and what they wanted to do tomorrow morning and that Pansy said Gemma wouldn't help them. "But you will, won't you?" he asked. "You'll help us sneak up to the attics."

"It's against the rules," Gemma said, but her full lips curved. "I could lose my Prefect badge."

"We won't get caught," Draco said.

"Maybe not," Gemma replied, "but if I take the risk, what's in it for me?"

All he had in his pockets were half a ginger newt from lunch and Scorpy. Draco held out his friend. Girls went loony over Nifflers. "Father could make you Scorpy's twin." Gemma's face lit up. He shoved Scorpy into his pocket to keep him out of harm's way. She seemed ready to pounce and slobber on his friend. "Deal?" he said.

"I shouldn't," Gemma said.

Draco pulled Scorpy out of his pocket far enough to make him wave.

She sighed. "Deal."

 


	8. The Ghost

 

The lounge was quiet. _Too quiet_. Lucius narrowed his eyes when he stepped out of the fireplace to find Draco nowhere in sight and Narcissa waiting, glass in hand.

She kissed his cheek. "Firewhiskey before dinner?"

He arched an eyebrow. "To help me unwind from the day, or because you believe I require liquid fortification?"

"Both."

Lucius huffed in amusement. "The last time you handed me a drink when I stepped out of a fireplace, I awoke tied to your bedposts."

She handed him the glass. "You could have told me you'd declined Rodolphus's offer to host a bachelor bacchanal the night before the wedding."

"And miss our alternative festivities?" He downed the Firewhiskey he normally sipped. "I'm a Slytherin, not a Hufflepuff." He placed the glass on the mantel and walked over the settee to get comfortable. Narcissa joined him, and he swayed toward her. Her lips pressed his, her arms twining around his neck. Lucius kissed her thoroughly before saying, "You didn't spike my drink in order to have your way with me, did you?"

She gave him a sultry look. "The night's still young."

"So it is." Cheered, he asked, "What's Draco done now? I take it he's the reason behind my need for Firewhiskey."

Narcissa ducked her head slightly to peer at him through her eyelashes. "He got himself into a spot of trouble—nothing to do with school, it's a personal matter—and he's waiting in his room to ask your advice."

Lucius reluctantly stood. When wife remained seated, he asked, "Aren't you accompanying me?"

"Our son needs _fatherly_ advice," she said.

He reluctantly nodded.

Narcissa's lips curved. "I'll practice  _Incarcerous_  Spells while you're gone."

 

Thoughts of a bacchanal for two evoked a smile that became a frown when he reached Draco's room. Lucius paused just outside the open door. His son was talking to someone.

"Don't tell me it isn't your fault," Draco said. "You can't help if girls fancy you because you're  _tiny and cute."_ The high pitched, disgusted tone used for the emphasised words gave Lucius the impression that his son was quoting the aforementioned girls. After a pause, Draco said, "If you weren't my bestest best mate I'd leave you home when I go to school."

Lucius closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to counter the beginnings of a headache. He'd known from the impassioned begging that ensued the instant Draco had spied the rat-like creature in the toy shop window that his son would cart it around until the fur rubbed off. He'd tried to avert disaster, had stated that the boy didn't need a new toy every outing. He would have held firm if Narcissa hadn't turned pleading eyes his way. She'd received few toys during her childhood, and those she'd cherished Bella either broke or stole. Every time Narcissa gave Draco a toy, she thumbed her nose at her parents and sister. How could Lucius deny her? One less toy wouldn't make their child any less spoilt.

He just wished his son and heir would stop conversing with the bloody thing.

"Father, is that you sighing in the corridor?" Draco asked.

Lucius stepped into the room. "Your mother told me you need my advice on a personal matter."

Draco held up the Niffler. "I promised to give someone else a twin."

Dread burned like Firewhiskey in his veins. "A girl?"

A guilty nod answered his question. The bold stupidity of the promise was like a Walloping Hex. Lucius braced himself with a hand against the bedpost. He refused to believe that the recessive Gryffindor genes marring the Black line had tainted his son!

"I can't give two girls the same present," Draco said.

Lucius dropped down to sit on the bed. "No, you can't." Relief made him chuckle. "They wouldn't like it." The girls were too young to hex, but they could repay the insult with physical harm.

Draco scooted off the bed and walked over to the toy cupboard that spanned the length of the room. He brought back a stuffed black pony with red starbursts gleaming in its dark eyes. "I want to give Gemma a twin of my kelpie after you shrink it."

Lucius gave him a knowing look. "Because girls fancy things that are tiny and cute?"

His son started to pout, and then his expression brightened. "Scorpy will have a friend his size."

That damned Niffler again. Lucius cast the spells and consoled himself with the knowledge that his son was Slytherin, not Gryffindor. He dropped the miniature kelpies onto Draco's lap, accepted his thanks, and told him to wash up and join them for dinner.

 

At bedtime, Draco only got one story because Daddy was tied up and needed Mummy's help. He waited until she'd closed the door to tell Scorpy, "Daddy gets knots in his shoelaces just like me!"

He fell asleep quickly, but woke in the middle of the night and sprinted down the corridor to the master bedroom. He lifted the covers at the foot of the bed and climbed onto the mattress before crawling up to reach fresh air and his favourite spot between his parents.

"Bad dream, darling?" his mother whispered.

His father muttered, "Story time. Sleep Charm. Worked for my parents."

"No wonder you were so close," his mother said as she stroked Draco's hair.

"Point taken." His father rolled onto his side to face them. "What frightened you, son?"

"I wasn't scared _._ I was having, erm,  _adventures_ in my dream and met a ghost." Adventures were less babyish than bad dreams. "I didn't remember how wizards deal with ghosts, so I woke up to, um, ask you and Mummy."

"What kind of ghost was it? Poltergeist, or a non-interactive manifestation?"

His father sounded truly interested. Draco enjoyed being the centre of attention. "A lady ghost."

"Interactive, I take it," his father said dryly.

His mother asked, "Can you blame her? Malfoy men are irresistible."

Draco didn't like the way his parents smiled at each other instead of him. He asked, "If I find the lady ghost's bones, will she go away?" His father gazed at him, eyebrows raised. Draco said, "She's at school."

"Vampires, harpies, and now a ghost. They should rename it the Walpurgis School for Supernaturals." His father's sneer softened into a smirk when Draco and his mother laughed.

"Good one, Father," Draco said.

His mother asked, "Is the ghost harassing you, darling? We can petition the Ministry to relocate her."

"And by the time he's at Hogwarts they'll have made a ruling." His father frowned. "I'll cancel the eight o'clock meeting tomorrow and—"

"I want to do it myself," Draco said. "Beg pardon," he added hastily. Interruptions made Father cross.

A reminiscing smile played across his father's face. "No apologies necessary. I remember the first time I bent another to my will."

"Birth?" his mother drawled.

His father chuckled, and Draco almost wished he was one of those Weasleys who were so ill-mannered they hugged their father in public and made spectacles of themselves. He touched his father's long hair, winding a strand around his finger as he listened to instructions on how to deal with the ghost, clutching it in his fist as he drifted off to sleep.

 

In the morning, he jumped out of bed without being cajoled and ran to his room to dress. Breakfast was wolfed down and his hands and face splashed with water to save the bother of wetting a flannel. Draco chewed a brushing/flossing mint so vigorously specks of white foam dotted his lips. If he'd had time, he would've pretended the foam was a sign of werewolf rabies and made corresponding faces in the mirror. Shock, horror, and madness were fun to act out, but he had more important things to do. He hurried downstairs.

Gemma was already waiting for him in the alley beside the school. Draco tugged his hand out of his mother's and ran toward the girl.

"Where's the firedrake?" she asked.

"I forgot I gave Pansy Scorpy's twin," he said, slightly out of breath as he reached into a pocket and brought out the miniature pony with a braided ebony mane. "This kelpie will protect you from enemies. She'll drag them into a lake and eat their livers."

"There are stars in her eyes," Gemma's fingers brushed Draco's as she took the kelpie out of his hands.

"They're death stars," Draco said.

Gemma giggled and kissed his cheek. "She's perfect."

He heard the sound of running footsteps, and then Pansy's voice rang out. "What's going on? What's she got in her hands?"

Draco whirled around. "I gave Gemma a kelpie for helping us," he said.

Pansy's tight expression relaxed. Slytherins bribed each other all the time. As long as he hadn't given Gemma a Niffler, Pansy seemed willing to shrug the matter off. He glanced over her shoulder and saw Vincent, Gregory, Daphne and Millicent at the mouth of the alley.

"This way," Gemma said. "We're going up the back stairs."

"Like  _servants_?" Pansy asked.

"No one will see us," Draco said. It was a much better plan than sneaking up the main staircase. He grabbed her hand and started walking to catch up to Gemma.

Pansy called to the others, "Hurry, before somebody sees you!" She squeezed his hand. He squeezed it back. Their adventure was starting!

Gemma turned to face them when she reached a narrow door at the rear of the building. The group stood huddled together, Vincent and Gregory breathing heavily out of their mouths from exertion or anticipation. Gemma reached into her pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver key that looked like a skeleton's wrist and hand with two fingers pointing outward and the ring and pinkie finger bones held against the palm by the thumb. "I snuck this out of my father's desk. He got it at Borgin and Burke's. It unlocks any door."

"Does your father collect keys?" Daphne asked.

The skeletal finger bones slid into the keyhole. "No," Gemma said after she turned the handle and opened the door. "I lock myself in my room a lot."

Draco stared at her in awe. He'd never dare lock his parents out of his room!

"My father doesn't need a skeleton key," Pansy said. "He uses Unlocking Charms."

"My uncle warded my door against spells as a Christmas present," Gemma replied.

Pansy's tightening grip on Draco's fingers turned painful. He quickly said, "I think you're both awfully brave."

Millicent made a gagging sound. "Are we going on an adventure or not?"

Gemma answered by marching into the school.

The back stairs were narrow and steep. Cobwebs hung from the railings, and the dust on the stair treads and hand rails was so thick, Daphne sneezed repeatedly.

"You're allergic to dust, aren't you?" Millicent said, disgust dripping from the accusatory words. "Draco, pass back your handkerchief."

He paused on the second floor landing. "Don't you have one?"

Pansy answered, "Course not. She's a  _girl_."

Draco thought of his snowy white handkerchief embroidered with a Slytherin green M. "Vincent and Gregory are closer." Millicent didn't trust the pair to guard the rear, so the boys walked ahead of her and Daphne.

"I—I can use the sleeve of my robes," Daphne said.

She probably didn't trust the other boys not to have already used their handkerchiefs. Draco sighed and handed his over. He grimaced at the sound of Daphne blowing her nose.

Gemma said, "That was gentlemanly of you, Draco."

Her smile made him feel a little better. "She can keep it." He wouldn't use it again, because no amount of laundering would remove girl germs.

They resumed their trek to the attic. When Gemma passed the door that served as a secondary emergency exit for the classes on the third floor, she abruptly stopped, whispered, "Freeze!" and wrapped her fingers around the door handle as she put her ear to the crack between the door and the wall. She listened and listened, finally letting go of the handle to straighten. "That was close," she said. "A couple of Prefects wanted to come in here for a snog, but a teacher told them to go patrol."

Gemma smirked when she said "snog" so Draco smirked back, although he'd never heard the word before and had no idea what it meant.

Pansy whispered as they continued up the stairs, "What's a snog?"

All he could think to say was what his mother had told him when he'd asked where babies came from. "I'll tell you when you're older."

"Is it naughty?"

Draco, tired of being pestered, stopped, leaned close to stare into Pansy's eyes, and said, "The naughtiest thing  _ever_." Satisfied with her open-mouthed silence, he started walking up the stairs again, pulling her along.

The quiet was broken after two steps. "Will you tell me at my next birthday party?" Pansy asked

He snapped, "On the train to Hogwarts and not a moment before." That should give him time to find out what a snog was. He had a suspicion that it wasn't a word he would find in a wizard dictionary.

"We'll sit together in a compartment," Pansy said.

Draco nodded, hurrying to catch up to Gemma, who had reached the attic and used her skeleton key to open the door. They all rushed inside and then halted.

"I expected more than a load of rubbishy furniture," Millicent said.

Daphne sneezed. Dust covered every surface like a layer of volcanic ash. "Perhaps it's all antiques."

Pansy slapped Vincent's hand when he started to open a trunk. "Don't touch anything! We'll all get in trouble if you walk into class filthy."

"She's right," Gemma said. "Not about hitting—don't do that again, Pansy—but teachers will know we've been sneaking around where we shouldn't if they see us covered with dust."

Vincent scratched his head. "If we can't touch nothin', how are we gonna find the lady ghost's bones?"

"Bones?" a soft voice asked.

_"Ahhh!"_  While others shrieked and Gregory said a bad word, Draco slowly turned his head. The lady ghost who had waved to him on his first day of school was floating next to his left shoulder. She had a round face beneath a frilly cap that covered her hair. The dress she wore had long wide skirts with an apron tied around her waist.

"Nanny?" Draco whispered.

The ghost reached out a hand and touched his hair. "Yes, that is what they called me."

She wasn't his nanny. She was a nanny ghost. He could see that now. Draco blinked away the moisture in his eyes. He was getting dust allergies like Daphne.

Pansy yanked him away from the ghost, stepping in front of him. "We're here to find your bones so you can leave."

Gemma pushed through to stand next to Pansy. "So your spirit can be free."

Draco stared at the ghost over Gemma and Pansy's shoulders. He asked the way his father had instructed, "What binds you to this place?" Once he removed the object, the ghost would have to follow.

The nanny ghost smiled. "Children bind me to this place."

Millicent demanded harshly, "You one of those pedos my da told me hangs round schools?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Gemma said, tossing a dagger filled glance over her shoulder. "She was a  _nanny._ A good one, if she took care of kids until she died and then decided to stay and care for them forever."

"It wasn't forever," the nanny ghost said wistfully. "My dear ones grew up and moved away." Her expression brightened. "But then new children came."

"What was your name when you were alive?" Daphne asked.

The nanny ghost blinked a few times. "Oh, dear. I cannot remember."

Draco said, "Her name is  _Nanny_. That's all that matters." Nanny Ghost beamed at him, and it reminded him of the times Nanny Murphy had been pleased with him for being so clever at writing his letters and numbers or for finding her reading glasses behind a window seat cushion.

Gemma checked her watch and said, "We need to leave now to make sure we enter the school with everyone else. The last thing we want to do is be late."

Nanny Ghost's face fell. "Leaving?"

"We'll visit you again," Draco said.

Pansy snorted. "I won't. Walking up the stairs was more exciting than meeting the ghost of somebody's old nanny." She flounced toward the door.

"It is dreadfully dusty," Daphne said.

"I'm leaving before she sneezes on me again." Millicent stomped out.

"Thanks for the handkerchief," Daphne told Draco and scurried after the other girls.

"There weren't any bones," Vincent said.

"Or blood," Gregory added. "She probably died of old age." He shook his head and followed Gregory. Their footsteps clomped down the stairs.

Gemma put her hand on Draco's shoulder. Her dark eyes were sympathetic. "I don't know when I'll be able to grab the skeleton key again. Most of the time Dad keeps it in his safe." She patted his shoulder. "Don't stay too long. I'd hate for my favourite Inception year student to get in trouble."

He smiled a little because she’d said he was her favourite. Once she'd gone, his eyes welled with tears.

"There, there," Nanny Ghost crooned. "Tell me what's wrong."

Draco told her how much he missed Nanny Murphy, even though he was a big boy now and had to go to school.

"I can help."

He shook his head. "I won't be able to come to the attic again."

"Ghosts can travel. I shall visit you."

"You will?"

"Stand in your nursery and think of me. That is all it takes."

"Will you sit on the window seat and tell me stories?" he asked hopefully.

She patted the air next to his cheek. "And I will listen to yours." The sound of a bell clanging tore through the attic. "Hurry," she said, "or you'll be late for school."

"Bye, Nanny!" Draco rushed down the stairway, shutting the exit door with a bang before bolting down the alley.

His mother stood on the steps to the school. She wore a wide-brimmed witch's hat to shield her face from the sun and carried his picnic basket. He skidded to a halt. She took out her wand and cast several cleaning and one hair-styling charm. He touched his hair. Slicked back: he liked it. "Thank you for bringing my lunch."

“You’re welcome.” Her lips curved. "I'll walk you to class."

The doors to the school opened, and Headmaster Prim strode out. His attitude transformed from stern to welcoming so quickly Draco wondered if his mother had cast a spell. He knew she had when she said, "Forgive my son's tardiness."

Headmaster Prim acted dazed. "Of course, of course."

Draco's mother said, "Run along, darling."

He obeyed with a grin that stayed on his face while Miss Bloodworth wrote his name on the board for being tardy and instructed him to take his seat.

"We're making books about school to take home to our parents," Pansy said. "I got supplies for you." She went back to colouring in a picture of baby gnomes.

Draco picked up a piece of drawing paper and went to stand by the teacher's desk.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Miss Bloodworth asked.

He set the drawing paper on her desk. "Would you write my book title for me?"

Her thin eyebrows rose, but she removed her quill from the inkwell. "What shall I write?"

Draco glanced at the class. Millicent, Daphne, Vincent, Gregory, and Pansy stared back at him as he said, "The First Adventure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nanny Ghost was inspired by Draco losing his nanny so abruptly in the first chapter and my wondering if he'd always had ghost lady friends who'd comforted him. I used "Tell me what's wrong" and "I can help" from Myrtle and Draco's scene in the girls' lavatory. Draco never saw Star Wars, but “death stars” in the kelpie's eyes seemed appropriate, especially since Draco's been considered a Darth Vader Boyfriend (There’s good in him! I can feel it!). I hope all the references and the story made readers smile. Special thanks to everyone who’s given (or plans to give ^_~) the story kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> The story was inspired by wondering what a primary school for pure-bloods would be called. Since the Death Eaters used to be called the Knights of Walpurgis, I went with Walpurgis, and modeled my title after Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. Four-year-olds in English schools are in "Reception year," so I changed it to "Inception," because the school is for pure-bloods, not Muggles, heh. Anyone who now has the urge to re-watch the Leonardo Di Caprio film Inception, I applaud your good taste. Those who comment, leave kudos, and/or look forward to the next chapter, I applaud your generosity (and good taste!) ;)


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